


Perfection

by allhalethealpha



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Basically, Basically my head cannon of Claudia and sheriffs relationship, F/M, M/M, Stiles is like his mom, its sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:58:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allhalethealpha/pseuds/allhalethealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers the day he first saw her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about the sheriff and Claudia and then this hit me. I wanted it to be longer but, oh well.

He remembers the first time he saw her. She was sitting across the classroom, her brown, soft looking curls bouncing past her shoulders, her head tipped back in laughter and dimples showing prominently. 

He remembers thinking, in that moment, that she was perfect. Not just the kind of perfect that the ideal woman is, but perfect in a way that she was blind to her own beauty. She was blind to the way her auburn eyes shone in the suns rays, whenever she would sit in the courtyard, her nose buried in a book and he would watch her, a little smile curved upon his face. 

He remembers getting the courage to talk to her after admiring her from afar, palms sweaty and heart pounding. How after that moment they'd sit together, pressed together, her book resting on her lap while she mumbled to him. Whether it be random facts or a story of how her day was going. He would gladly sit there and watch and listen as she got excited about whatever novel she'd taken to that week, how her voice would raise an octave with her barley contained excitement. How she'd gesture excitedly with bright eyes and a happy grin. Perfect, the only word he could describe her as. 

He remembers whenever he stuttered through asking her on a date, and how she responded with a riddle and only when he solved it could he treat her on a date. He replayed the same riddle over and over, and didn't stop until he figured it out. And three days later he was grinning proudly as he told her the answer, and her crooked smile in return gave him his. 

He remembers sitting in the corner booth of the diner, with her pressed against his side and his arm curled around her shoulders. She had lifted her hand, curled her fingers with his and rested her head on his shoulder, the sun setting and illuminating the diner in shades of gold and yellow. 

He remembers the day she missed school. And how he rode his bike to her house as soon as the last bell rang, only to find it empty. He remembered how the cold and hard porch felt under him as he sat and waited until the car pulled up, her tired looking dad climbing out. 

He remembers crying.   
He remembers being angry.   
He remembers her soft voice telling him that it was okay. 

It wasn't okay. He sat by her, gripped her hand until one day, after he'd saved enough money fixing cars with his grandfather, he walked to the local jewelry store and bought a ring with whatever money he had in his pocket. It was only a couple hundred, but it was worth it to see the look on her face and the watery smile she gave him. 

He remembers how she jumped up and down whenever he got the job at the station and then jumped in his arms, smelling like flowers and sweetness. 

He remembers the ultrasound. He remembers thinking how could a human being look like a little dot on the screen. "I like Genim." She had said one night. And that was that. 

He remembers the years that passed so quickly. The little baby boy wrapped up in a blanket, then the toddler running around the house, screaming his joy as his bare feet scurried down the hallway with a mop-haired, tanner boy. 

He remembers her bright laugh that filled the house whenever their son couldn't say their last name. It had come out a stuttered "St-Stil-Stiles!". He watched her pick him up and press a wet kiss against his cheek and coo at her little baby Stiles. 

He remembers sending Stiles to Scott's house, because he didn't want him to hear the screams. He didn't want him to see his mother waking up every night in a terror, or not sleeping at all. The way her body slowly turned weak, how she was losing touch with reality and all he could do was hold her and try to keep himself from shaking. To keep himself strong. 

He remembers the night it happened. 

How that same little boy, only years older, was sitting in the chair with his head in his hands, his feet not even touching the ground. He remembers dropping to his knees in front of him and pulling him against his chest and holding on like his life depended on it. 

Now, years later, as he sat with his back against the gravestone, he wishes he could see her, hear her laugh, hear her stories. But then he thinks of his son, his son with the extravagant stories and always-have-to-tell facts. His son with the wild hand gestures and book cravings. His will to protect everyone around him, his auburn eyes that would shine exactly like hers would. 

He realizes, as he tilts his head back against the cold stone to stare at the sky, that she's with them. Everyday. And it sometimes hurts, hurts too much to look at Stiles and see Claudia in him, with everything that he does. 

But he knows that his son is perfect. In the way that he's blind to his own beauty, but the Hale kid isn't. He knows that his sharp tongue and wit comes from that intelligent brain he must of inherited from her. He can see it, in the way that his son stares up at the older man, that he loves with everything that he has. Just like she did.


End file.
